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Dom follows my gaze down. 'Yes, you do a bit,' he says with candour. ' asks Dom sympathetically. 'Lady Boswell,' I confirm. ' 'Well then, I think we could declare a state of emergency just for tonight. But tomorrow evening I will personally throw away all the Cornettos and then we can go to Sainsbury's and buy some celery. ' Oh goody. He walks over to the vastly depleted wine rack and pulls out a bottle. ' I beg. ' he questions as the cork comes out of the bottle with a comforting POP. 'Is that really necessary?

However, what she lacks in height she more than makes up for in attitude. I wouldn't go so far as to say she is rude, she's just … oh all right, she is rude. For as long as I can remember Winnie has dressed from head to toe in varying shades of tweed, along with stout, plain shoes which add nothing to her height and finished off with a perky hat of some description from her eclectic collection. Today she's wearing a deer stalker with a couple of jaunty pheasant feathers sticking out to the side, which get stuck up us taller people's noses every time she turns around.

Where my mother tinkled, my Aunt Winnie guffawed. Due to an unfortunate love affair in her youth which, my mother informed me when I was older, was the reason Aunt Winnie had never ventured into marriage (and Must Never Be Talked About), my aunt had lots of room in her emotional and physical life for us. And fortunate for Sophie and me that she did. She is the sheltering harbour that we are always glad to be welcomed back into. My parents were, and still are, completely vague. My father was too busy with his work and my mother too busy with her parties and guest lists to bother much with Sophie or me.